


The Corruption of a Music Note

by SnowMercury



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Corruption-Typical Vibes, Implied Past Abuse, Implied Transphobia, Other, The Corruption, themes of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24601630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowMercury/pseuds/SnowMercury
Summary: David Marmalade is a freshwater siren. He has an experience with the Corruption. He has several, actually.This is a threeshot exploring what the Corruption can mean, what it is the fear of abstractly, and how someone came to embrace it.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	The Corruption of a Music Note

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! If you're not new to my writing for other fandoms, you may be familiar with David Marmalade. If not, here's what's relevant to this fic.
> 
> He is not human. Freshwater Sirens are large sentient creatures who understand human speech and can present themselves as human when humming or singing. 
> 
> Freshwater Sirens live in Schools most often. Schools are the replacement for family groups; a siren does not call their School a family unless they feel they do not belong. 
> 
> David is nonbinary. In this, he's still figuring out what that means. Sirens are affected by the Western gender binary; him being nonbinary is not explainable by him being not human. A Siren being nonbinary can be just as revolutionary as a person being nonbinary. I, the author, am nonbinary. More notes at the end, but this is all the context for before the story!

David’s first encounter with acceptance is not one that he enjoys. There is a desperate, clawing need inside him- to be known, and loved, and to love in return. And, quiet and alone as he is, there is a certain irony in his following of the hivesong. 

It is not alone, he knows. The reef he has found is covered in light, and shapes, and color; crawling and squirming and swimming and living, existing. It is something solid. It is proof of something, something that curls its way around his tongue as a concept and leaves the taste of copper but nothing else substantial. He knows what drew him here; the curl and swirl of water around the spindly arms of coral has created songs, beautiful tunes with so many layers, so many intricacies and layers and a duet of a melody. It is waiting only for him to hum along, and what is the duty of a siren but to sing the song of the sea? To create with what nature gives them?

And so he hums. He joins the chorus, twisting and twirling and dancing if only in his mind along to the maze of creatures before him. Moments of euphoria, of feeling part of a thing larger than himself; what is a chorus but many minds working as one? It has been so long since he has felt confident enough to sing along with his family. He isn’t sure if he ever wants to, as much as he loves them (surely it is love, that is what you are supposed to feel for family, after all). But, as much as they might be family, he is sure they aren’t his School. They do not have the sense of unity that being in a School, connected and humming and safe and learning, creating, dancing and rejoicing through life, brings. 

But, no. He doesn’t want to think about that right now. He has had enough of thinking about what could be better; sometimes he finds comfort in looking at what is good despite it. Sometimes he cannot think of his situation as a whole, sometimes reality must be superimposed with flower petals, looked at through shades of glass. And so he looks down.

The coral is curling, growing, breathing in the way underwater coral does. The current drifts David further over the bright expanse of the reef, beckoning, and he is shocked by one thing the most- there is no movement of small fish or mollusk, no, only the groaning, creaking growth of the land. One of his paws almost brushes the rough texture of a branch, but he pulls it away at the last second. 

This world is so beautiful. He knows enough not to touch the coral, not having experienced its bite for himself but knowing it can make a stingache last for days, weeks, even months. But it is still so, so beautiful. The dazzling colors oscillate in front of him; this is the most vibrant reef he has seen, he is sure. It feels like something that would creak and groan like tall trees in a windstorm above the water. There is a power here.

He is still mesmerized, naturally, of course. How could someone see this great, wonderful, beautiful example of life and living and not be entranced? But maybe it is his history that rings the bell. Something from the stories and tales, something from the ability of the humlights to create and layer an illusion over what other creatures see, to draw them in.

Something is not right here. 

There are no fish. No fish in this bright, colorful, rainbow-like forest, spattered with white sticks, the remnants of old coral. Not even shrimp or something smaller. It is a reef that was once dead, but has been reclaimed, surely- this coral has grown over the old cracks and turns and fallible skeletons, only shells of what they were. 

Only shells. Husks.

It is a good thing that, while David is a freshwater siren, saltwater does not harm his gills. Because his next moment is one that stabs his lungs with an inhale. 

That is not old coral he sees. 

He turns, tail almost touching the closest branch. When had he become so surrounded? It is growing now, curling around him, building a nest, a cocoon. When had he lost sight and hope of the sky?

It is not a reclaimed reef. 

That copper taste is back, the water around him is permeated with the salty tang. He sees bright pink and purple and red and green and orange and blue- none of the colors are safe, but he knows, somehow, the blue is most dangerous of all. He cannot escape from this home, built around him and starting to curl. No false hope will save him. His movements are starting to stiffen, slow, something like armor but infinitely more confining aggregating on his fur. Deep, deep in the sea, these bright colors would simply be camouflage. This is not the deep. This is on the surface, light and full of air and living water. 

This is no camouflage. This is warning coloration, false brightness and happiness and excitement, almost stinging his eyes in its intensity. How could he not have seen? Not have noticed?

The coral is as strong as brick around him. There are no soft sponges, no malleable algae, no waxy seaweed. It is rough, and uncaring, but masquerading as friendly life. He knows better. This is not love or appreciation, from the coral. It is not an invitation to join the song. It is a trap, cold and bright like the brightest summer day, too bright to look at. It tells him he will be safe. He knows it is lying.

There is so much he hasn’t noticed. So much he wants to experience. Those concepts feel as far off as the light, calm, blue of the sky. No, he is buried in cyan and pink and purple, colors he would say were lovely if they weren’t so careful and gentle in their construction of his cradle. He is being bonecoddled. It is a kind of love he has not asked for, but one he cannot break. Not with the ideas that they bring with them- they are pastel, soft in shade, cute. Not things he would ever describe himself as, but things ascribed to him all the same. They wrap over his ribs like a hug, but all the more confining. This is not an embrace he can say no to. And that is what makes it terrifying.

He closes his eyes. He will not watch his own demise. This is no simple loss of consciousness- it is a death of the self, a death of his being. If he dies here, it will mean the death of the truth of who he was, he knows. And, rather than harm his walls in trying to escape, David relaxes, lets himself sway. He could never hurt those around him in his attempt to break free. He would never. And this is not a good thing, he knows, that he lacks the energy to willfully break out, to correct what was assigned to him. What he is being held in, he has grown to embrace it just the same.

There is a sure sense that it is too late for him, now. He is calm in the way you can be when loud voices and shattered glasses are your tempo, when huge noises are what surrounds you. Maybe, maybe he simply wants to be quiet. A small song of his own to sing, mezzopiano, with none of the triple forte of before. 

As he drifts off to the sway of the water around him, all he can think of is his family, surely, hopefully not following too close behind. This may be his gravesite, but he only hopes it will not be theirs. 

  
  


He is found, awake, two days later drifting in open sea. There is no coral growth in his fur, no shield from the outside world to speak of. Only him, far from his family, alone. 

He isn’t sure what to think of it.

**Author's Note:**

> A few more things; 
> 
> humans can be turned into freshwater sirens through magical shenanigans, and a siren can be stripped of their magical power if they are kicked out of siren society. 
> 
> yes, david is my fursona. however, this threeshot is VERY much not treating him as so; this is how david would likely live within the TMA universe, and also if his situation were just a bit more desolate. 
> 
> this story may address feeling compelled to love and accept that which hurts you, and forgiving those who haven't sought forgiveness. i am writing this as an allegory for my real world experiences. 
> 
> however, i DO NOT want to romanticize or glorify these experiences. this story is a tragedy; my life is not. i have found the confidence for self respect and how to trust my own judgement. i am in recovery from situational depression and non-situational anxiety. i am healing from trauma. 
> 
> if you find yourself relating to any of the things experienced by david in this story, please know, you can do it. there are people who will listen. there are people who care. you do not have to excuse someone who has hurt you. forgiveness is a choice only you can make, and you are not obligated to choose one way or the other. there is not a 'right answer'. 
> 
> sometimes it feels like you can never escape. i am here for you even if that is your experience. feeling like you have to hide sucks. trust me; you are not living a double life. if you feel you cannot come out, if you feel you cannot trust those around you, it's okay. you will find your home eventually. and a made home is no worse, sometimes even better, than a born one.


End file.
